The wand chooses the witch
by StarshotFourteen
Summary: In which Emmeline Vance buys her first wand.


It was the most exciting day in Emmeline Vance's (so far considerably short) life. Better than all her birthdays, better than that time she'd managed to turn her big brother's hair green by accident - almost, she would dare to say, better than her last five Christmases combined, and she loved Christmas more than anything. Yes, today was a very special occasion, because today, after months of waiting and begging and sulking when she didn't get her way, she was going to get her wand. Her very own wand, that would help channel the magic she held within her, and maybe even allow her to turn Alex's hair green on purpose someday. The young witch had been looking forward to this for a long time, and now that summer was finally here, and her parents had deemed it appropriate to go shopping for school supplies at last, the girl could barely contain her excitement. She was practically skipping down the streets, torn between her intense desire to obtain a wand and the constant distraction the various shops kept providing. There was just so much to see! Their way to Ollivanders was slow, the girl's parents strolling leisurely along as their daughter let her eyes wander - and sometimes her feet as well.

When they eventually got there, Emmeline was slightly let down. In comparison to the whirlwind of impressions she'd just gotten in the rest of Diagon Alley, the wandmaker's shop looked almost _boring_, with its somewhat dirty windows, and only one wand on display. Pushing the door open with considerably less excitement than she'd felt before, the girl found that inside was not much better. It was dimly lit, the smell reminded her of great-aunt Cecilia's house, and besides a spindly little chair the small space was filled with nothing but ceiling-high stacks of boxes, presumably containing wands. So this was what she'd been looking forward to all those months? Not noticing the amused looks her parents were exchanging at their youngest child's obvious disappointment, Emmeline made her way to the chair, too scared to call out a hello, but quite certain someone must be at work here somewhere, or why else would the door be open? Suddenly, from between two high stacks of boxes on the left, a man appeared, and it startled her so much that she almost knocked over one of the lower stacks now to the right of her. Used to her daughter's clumsy tendencies, Mrs. Vance caught it just in time, and let Mr. Ollivander greet them. The man confused Emmeline, because she couldn't figure out whether he was friendly or not, and she didn't like his eyes.. But this was the person who would find her a wand, and for that she liked him very much despite the odd feeling he gave her.

The way he worked seemed odd to her as well, charming a tape measure to take the size of her arm and her feet and the space between her nostrils, while he rummaged around some of the stacks in what she assumed to be an attempt to find a good match for her. _"The wand chooses the witch, Emmy," _her mother had been telling her for weeks now, and she believed this - but could you blame her for wanting a bit more excitement in the process? When the tape measure rolled back up and flew back into a drawer, Mr. Ollivander had selected six boxes, which all looked equally dusty and unappealing. Narrowing her eyes slightly, Emmeline took the one that he offered her, opening it with unpracticed gestures and almost dropping the lid in her eagerness to get to the wand inside. This part, at least, was how she'd imagined it. The wood was light, almost shiny, and slightly curved. She could definitely see herself casting spells with this wand, all pretty and elegant and grown up.. But when she picked it up, the wood immediately felt wrong in her hand; as if she was doing something very bad by touching things that weren't hers. The discomfort must have shown on her face, because Mr. Ollivander plucked the wand from her fingers almost effortlessly, putting the lid back on the box and placing it on the lone chair in the middle of the shop. No pretty wand for her.

Hesitantly taking the second wand from the box which was now presented to her, Emmeline felt a surge of relief when this one didn't feel bad at all. The wand was slightly thicker than the last one, and considerably shorter, and she liked how it looked between her fingers. But Mr. Ollivander took it back after a few moments, muttering something about how she would know if this one was for her. _Maybe I did know,_ she wanted to protest, _you can't look inside my head! _But already he was holding out a new box, and it didn't seem worth it to resist the temptation of another wand. It was a bit plain, just straight, somewhat dark, and averagely sized. But something about the small sphere at the bottom of the handle attracted her, and after a moment she finally picked it up. Now she understood - _the wand chooses the witch. If it's yours you will know_ - and she knew. The wood was firm and cool in her hand, her fingers closed around the handle and rested against the sphere perfectly, like this wand had been designed for her, which she would almost believe it was. Happiness surged through the girl, seeming to go in the direction of her wand hand (_she had a wand hand now!) _and it didn't stop there. Before Emmeline even knew what she was doing, she'd made it snow, right there in the shop; small white flakes floating down from somewhere near the ceiling, the temperature still the same except for the occasional cold sensation of a snowflake against her skin. It was a truly magical moment, and it took a while for the girl to realize she was not alone.

Her parents looked more pleased than she'd ever seen them, and even Mr. Ollivander was smiling, although he did urge her to put the wand back in the box for now. That, of course, was the last thing she wanted to do, but she felt too wonderful to say no or protest to anything. Emmeline was unable to keep her eyes off the box, her fingers itching to hold her wand again as Mr. Ollivander told her it was made out of redwood and had a core of dragon heartstring. Eleven and a half inches long, the perfect average, he said, which she found funny because she, too, had always felt perfectly average. Though she didn't much like the 'unyielding' quality she was now being informed her wand possessed, because it meant that by extension she, too, was apparently unwilling to change, the girl was perfectly happy with her choice - or had it been the wand's choice? She would be fiery, like a dragon, and unyielding like she imagined redwood trees to be, and she would never in her life be considered average again. This wand had chosen her, and she would make it proud.


End file.
